


Beetlejuice Bits and Bobs

by Hoodoo



Category: Beetlejuice (1988), Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cock Rings, Depression, Even lower self worth, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fanart, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Headcanon, Healing, Help, Learning curve, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Other, Praise, Rimming, Scratching, Sex, Softer Keatlejuice, Support, Tie pulling, Unplanned Pregnancy, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, chapter based on fanart, low self worth, people in this fandom are so TALENTED, the drive to assist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:14:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 16,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21866551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoodoo/pseuds/Hoodoo
Summary: A collection of short Beetlejuice/reader stories
Relationships: Beetlejuice (Beetlejuice)/Reader, Beetlejuice (Beetlejuice)/You, Beetlejuice/Originial Female Character(s), Beetlejuice/original Male Characters
Comments: 40
Kudos: 430





	1. Proposal

It was one of his favorite gags, but it was hard to concentrate on what he was saying with his cock in your mouth and his tongue and fingers in your pussy. Of all the parlor tricks he routinely engaged in, you much preferred the floating, especially when it included you and there was some mutual oral sex going on. 

Most of what he said when his mouth was occupied was just dirty anyway.

So you didn’t pay attention to it. You sucked him hard, till the head of his cock was touching your throat, and the gave him a push on a hip, which made the two of you rotate lazily in the air: him on top, then you, then him again. Beetlejuice chuckled and didn’t stop the movement. When the momentum finally slowed, you were on top again. 

His dick had warmed and you replaced your mouth with your hand to give him a quick twisting stroke while you caught your breath. He didn’t stop, a convenient side effect of not having to breathe, and curled his fingers to just the right spot inside you to make you arch your back and cry out. His lips found and latched onto your clit, and you mewled in pleasure. 

Realizing you’d stopped actively doing things to him as pleasure spread throughout your gut, you kept hold of his cock and dropped your mouth back onto him. Although you were rewarded with a deep throated groan from the ghost, it also made him work a little harder at your pussy, and you had to pull away again as you moaned too.

Somehow, the words that bounced off the walls made it into your ears and were processed by your brain.

“–-so, what do you say, baby?”

“Beej–-oh god, _Beej!_ Just like that! A little more, a little more-–” you answered him, his fingers still pressing on your g-spot. 

Beetlejuice didn’t lift his head. He continued to stimulate you, although his voice took on an amused tone. 

“That’s good, baby, but not quite the answer I was looking for.”

You had no idea what he was talking about. You just wanted to come; you were almost there, _almost there–-_

“Will you marry me?”

His thrown voice had dropped to a gravelly whisper. His tongue still lapped at you, his three fingers were still deep inside you. Your orgasm was fast approaching, and his question was so unexpected, so out of the blue, you thought it had to be a joke–-

You couldn’t begin to compose an answer. Waves of pleasure swept through you, making you sob through your release. As you started to come back down, you realized you still had a grip on his cock, although you’d had no fortitude to stroke him off. 

Gently, gently, the two of you drifted back down onto the bed, you still atop him. Even if gravity made you think you were too heavy for him, Beetlejuice never complained.

You felt gorged on pleasure and guilty he hadn’t come. Keeping your hand on him, you manuevered off his chest and moved beside him, swirling your tongue around the head of his cock before opening your mouth to take him back in. 

A hand on the side of your head stopped you. 

You looked up to find Beetlejuice looking down on you. 

“Come here, baby,” he asked, although you didn’t see his mouth move. Although you were confused, you did.

Crawling to be face level with him, he pulled you back on top of him. The expression on his face was unreadable.

“You gonna make me ask it again? Third time’s the charm, right?” 

His voice still skipped around the room, while he stared at you. The slightest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips, but it was gone before it truly formed. 

Eyebrows furrowed, you looked at him in bewilderment. 

With a breath you knew he didn’t actually need to take, Beetlejuice opened his mouth and asked you directly, 

“Will you marry me?”

Although he didn’t use the trick, his thrown voice echoed from every corner, becoming quieter with each reputation, until it faded to nothingness. 

Your throat was desert dry. You managed to croak out, “Marry you?”

The single nod he gave you was quick and self-conscious, and for the first time, his eyes darted away from you, and then back again. 

Words escaped you. “Beej, I … I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes,” he prompted simply. A quiet, hopeful Beetlejuice was never something you’d expected to experience. 

“It’s all so–-unexpected–-” you faltered. 

“Is it?” he countered, pushing your hair off your forehead. “You never send me away any more.”

It was true. When you’d first summoned him, he’d been such a terrifying, chaotic beast it was hard to deal with him. Getting to know him better, graduating to sleeping with him, one day you’d called him up and just never repeated his name to make him leave. He’d been a guest, living in your house for some time now.

Still, it was hard to wrap your head around what he was asking.

“I don’t understand … how can I marry you, you’re … well, you’re dead.”

“Other cultures marry the dead, baby.”

“That’s largely symbolic!” 

“Touché. But I’m not your average dead guy. If you agree, I get living status again.”

You rolled your eyes. “Ah, there it is! I marry you, and you’re living. Free and clear without restraints to wreck havoc–-”

“I lose my powers, babe,” Beetlejuice interrupted quietly. 

That bit of information pulled you up short. 

“Well, most of them,” he amended. A wistful sort of grin crossed his face for a moment. “What I get is a second chance, baby. That’s all. But a second chance with you beside me … “

His voice trailed off. 

You mulled this over in your head. A Beetlejuice who didn’t smell like the grave? A Beetlejuice who was as warm as you were, who wouldn’t intentionally–-or accidently–-disappear? A Beetlejuice not bound by laws you didn’t always understand, but who would also not perform some truly horrific bodily horror, or be the ultimate player in hide and seek, who wouldn’t be able to engage in much supernatural antics?  


A Beetlejuice who just … was?

Your breath caught in your throat. You looked up at him and found him watching you. He continued to smooth your hair.

“Yes,” you answered. 

_fin_


	2. Green-Eyed

_“I’m_ not jealous.”

You didn’t reply, so he tried again. 

“I’m not jealous!”

You didn’t even look over at him. You heard him sigh in exasperation.

“I’m not _jealous!”_

Third time was the charm. You spun around on him so quickly he actually took a step back in surprise. 

_“You are jealous,”_ you contradicted with emphasis. You didn’t try to control your anger. “I was working on a project–you know I’ve been working on this!-–and we had to get the final part of the presentation complete and it was just easier to do that with less distractions–-”

“Less distractions?” Beetlejuice interrupted, with a snort of a laugh that was unmistakenly meant to showcase his disbelief. “Less _distractions?!”_

“Yes!” you shouted back. “Less distractions than in a coffee house, less distractions than _here,_ obviously–-”

“So you thought the perfect place to go was that guy’s _house?_ Up in his _bedroom?!”_

_“That’s where his computer is!”_

For a moment, the two of you stared at each other, panting from the rush of adrenaline due to the rage. Well, he didn’t need to pant but he did anyway, and a tiny, malicious part of your brain wondered if he was mocking you.

After a moment of fury continuing to electrify the air, Beetlejuice continued, “You were sitting on his bed,” as if that was the coup de grâce of his point, and there would be no way you could counter it. 

You pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed. “Yes. And since you were obviously spying on me, you saw there was no other chair in the room, he was sitting at his computer facing away from me, there were papers spread all over the damn place, and I was wearing leggings with a hole in the knee and a sweatshirt that was so big I looked like I was playing dress up!”

He scowled but didn’t immediately retaliate, which meant he had seen all that.

“Beetlejuice–-”

He gave a wordless warning snarl at the use of his full name. You didn’t care; you specifically chose to use it to make him actually listen to you. 

“–-there was _nothing_ going on,” you continued. “There _is_ nothing going on! I’m not interested in him, we just have to work together! I can’t believe you’re making this into something bigger than it is–-”

“Babes, that doesn’t mean he’s not interested in you,” Beetlejuice interrupted, but more quietly.

The change in tone caught you attention and you took a breath instead of immediately continuing with your tirade. 

Beetlejuice gave you a smile that was an odd combination of sad and resigned. “I know how guy’s think, babe. Invite to his house? To his _room?_ Maybe at first he didn’t have anything but work on his mind, but when you agreed to go up there, the thought that maybe he’d be getting some action definitely occurred to him. 

“Trust me. I know. I’ve been that guy.”

You opened your mouth. Then shut it again. You hadn’t thought of that possibility.

That odd, sad smile hadn’t left his face. “Guys don’t care what you’re wearing, baby. They’re thinking of what’s underneath, and how they can get to it.”

Another moment of silence passed between you, but it was much less tension-filled than the first. 

“Beej …” you started, then stopped again to try and line your thoughts up coherently. 

He waited, this time. 

You started again. “Beej, you shouldn’t be jealous of him. I’m not interested in him at all. I’m sorry that it looked bad, me going over there and going into his room, but I didn’t have any thoughts about anything but work. If he did, I can’t control that. And if he had tried something … inappropriate, I wasn’t going to scream, “no” or “stop”! I would have screamed your name, because I know you’d be there.”

Beetlejuice’s expression softened, just a bit. 

“I mean, you’d have been there, in the flesh, instead of just making him think his house was haunted or I was possessed or something,” you teased lightly. 

“You trust me that much, babe?” he asked, in the same quiet voice. 

Your answer was an immediate, “Yes!”

Now it was his turn to mull things over.

You took a step closer. This time he didn’t step back, so you took his hand and put it on the waistband of the aforementioned ratty leggings. Looking up at him, you said, 

“How could you ever think that I would want to be with someone else?”

He frowned a little. “Because he’s alive.”

You laughed in his face. “So what? He’s not you.”

His expression didn’t change, although it did soften the tiniest amount. 

“And you know what?” you asked, with a hint of tease in your voice. “That thing you mentioned, about guys not caring what a girl is wearing? I know you don’t care what’s on the outside, but–-”

Here you paused and looked down, directing him non-verbally to follow your gaze. Without dislodging his hand from your hip, you tucked your thumb under your elastic waistband and pulled it out away from your body to show the panties you were wearing underneath.

They were black and white striped. 

“–-I put these on this morning, thinking specifically of you. I was hoping you’d get to see them tonight.”

You let that hang between the two of you for a moment. 

“Babe-–” Beetlejuice groaned, and his grip tightened. He pulled you forward against him and began lowering his head to yours.

Awkwardly you pulled back a bit. “No more jealousy?” you asked.

“Not of that guy,” he agreed, and twisted his head to kiss your neck. 

You squealed at the tickle, and hugged him back. 

_fin!_


	3. Nasty BJ

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PWP, Beej/transguy!reader

You gagged.

You wretched your eyes open, blinking your eyes rapidly to force the tears welling in them out so you could look directly up at Beetlejuice. If you didn’t, the ghost would stop.

There was a hitch in your lover’s gait, and as you found and held his gaze, you shook your head just enough that you didn’t completely dislodge the cock in your mouth.

It was enough permission that Beetlejuice only hesitated just a millisecond more. He praised, 

“That’s my boy,” then started up again.

You let your eyes fall back closed.

Here, pinned on your back on the bed, you were trapped by Beetlejuice’s knees and thighs on either side of your head while the ghost used the headboard for support as he pistoned into the inviting heat of your mouth. It never grew tiring. You didn’t care about the balls slapping your chin; you didn’t care that at first he always tasted, well, like grave dirt; you didn’t care about the copious amounts of drool falling out of your mouth because you couldn’t swallow; you didn’t care about the burn in your nose from excess tears or the occasional gag when Beetlejuice’s cock struck the wrong spot in the back of your throat.

You loved the rapid pace and the grunts of animalistic pleasure you could make the specter produce. You loved when Beetlejuice let go of the headboard to grab the side of your head, yanking your mouth off his cock and holding you still. You loved when in the next second, your lover rocked back just enough to balance without falling backward to jerk himself off.

Sometimes the hand not stroking himself walked down your chest, tracing the lines of your scars. He never asked about them, didn’t care about them, other than he knew you were happy because of them. 

If he got too wrapped up in fucking his own hand, sometimes he lost his center of balance and he leaned back too far. Then, instead of slowing down and readjusting, he’d just bolster himself up with his free hand on your leg. Sometimes it landed between your legs, which was fun. If it landed close to your groin, you could rock into it, rubbing yourself on his wrist if that was the most convenient. 

That never failed to make him give you the biggest, raunchiest smile, feeling your need. 

Then he would rearrange himself enough to not need it to keep his balance. He’d use those fingers to rub along your cock too, in time with the strokes he gave himself. With the pressure he applied and the wanton display above you, lots of times you got off before he did.

Even though that made him grin too, he never let you revel in your climax.

You never failed to groan as his hand left your groin; you could be just as greedy as he was! But at the grip of calloused fingers in your hair, you always opened your eyes to watch Beetlejuice above you. You liked to watch him fray apart in pleasure. You opened your mouth too as you waited, with a hint of an eager smile at the edges of your lips.

In just a few agonizing seconds, Beetlejuice’s self-administrations tipped him over the threshold of release and the ghost came in long ropy spurts over your mouth and cheeks.

You loved being covered in come, loved being marked by your lover in a way that didn’t leave blemishes, and Beetlejuice loved the way he was able to indulge you in those two minor kinks. Not only did he like it too; he couldn’t resist when you called his name to bring him here, so it was the least he could do.

_fin!_


	4. Like A Virgin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beej/f!reader, headcanons

  * Heavy petting? Yeah, been there, done that. But going all the way … that made you nervous. Curious and aroused, but nervous
  * If some of the hot and heavy playtime ended up inching closer to actual sex, Beetlejuice is all for it. If you’re turned on, breathing into his mouth and tugging at his clothes to both keep him close and get them off of him, he’s going to do the same to you, and you’ll be mostly naked before you know it
  * He can tell you’re turned on, of course. That petting has gotten him to third base, and he’s already felt how wet you were when he shoved a hand between your legs, inside your panties. Plus you’d rutted against him, trapping his hand between your thighs while he fingered you.
  * You’d returned the favor, pushing his trousers and ratty underwear off and stroking his cock. He’d stopped you before he came, however, telling you that he loved your hand, but he’d also love to feel your pussy, hint hint 
  * Then, however, when you pull back because you’ve never actually had sex before, that’ll confuse the hell out of him.
  * “Come on, babes! Don’t leave me hanging! Blue balls are the worst!”
  * You blushed and apologized, and bashfully admit you thought tonight maybe you’d like to do more too. His eyes widen and he grins ear to ear. You notice an odd color pattern in his hair: some streaks of pale chartreuse throughout it and a deeper pink that originates near his scalp. You’ve surprised him, but he’s aroused.
  * But!
  * In the next breath, you drop your eyes and whisper that you’d never done anything like that before. The look of joy on Beetlejuice’s face crinkled into confusion.
  * “What? Never done that-–oh!”
  * Once the light dawns that you’re a virgin and you want him to be your first, he is eager and smug and shy and worried all at once. His hair loses the color of surprise and almost glows with excitement. He promises to make it good for you, promises to go slow, promises you the moon. 
  * It’s slow, it’s careful. He makes sure you’re fine and on board with everything each step of the way
  * All the care is juxtaposed, however, with the insane amount of dirty talk that he couples it with.
  * “Feel that finger, baby? How about two? That’s right, that’s good–-feels nice, doesn’t it? It’s gonna be even better, with my cock slipping into your pussy. You’re so tight! It’s gonna be so good, baby, I’m gonna fill you up–-”
  * You can’t help but continue to writhe under his hand. He latches on to a nipple, which makes you cry out, and even with a mouthful of tit he continues talking, his voice bouncing around the room.
  * “I want you to come on my hand. I want you to come and be so wet when I fuck you-–”
  * With his fingers deep inside you and the meaty section of his palm pressing directly on your clit, you succumb to it. Your release bubbles up and you moan aloud, once more pinning his hand in place between your legs.
  * When you open your eyes, Beetlejuice is watching you with a smug grin. He can’t deny his own arousal, however; his hair is deep magenta now. 
  * “So good,” he praised as you come back to earth. He gives you a moment to catch your breath, then asked if you’re ready?
  * You can’t help but lick your lips, still a bit apprehensive, then nod.
  * He gets to his knees to move between your legs. You watch him as he does; was his dick ever that big before? You’ve held it in your hands, you’ve had it in your mouth, but there’s no way it’ll fit down there, will it? Involuntarily you tense a little bit as he parts your thighs and supports himself above you.
  * Beetlejuice drags his finger through the wet on your pussy and strokes himself. He glances up at you, gives you a grin, and rocks forward. 
  * The head of his cock slips into you. That’s not so bad. His fingers are much more than that–-
  * -–he continues moving, and you involuntarily suck in a breath and squeeze your eyes closed. There’s a burn, not unpleasant but more than you expected. You feel impaled, opened, split–-
  * “That’s it baby, that’s it, gods this feels good, take a breath, baby, breathe for me-–” Beetlejuice coos, his voice no longer thrown but hitching as he continues his smooth easing motion. Then he stops.
  * “You don’t have to, you don’t have to stop,” you stutter out, “it’s okay, I’m okay–-”
  * “You sure are, baby,” he agrees. “I’m already all the way inside you.”
  * You forced your eyes open and found him face to face with you. If you hadn’t been concentrating solely on the pressure you’d been feeling and the fact that your lungs were begging for new air, you might have noticed his hips were pressed tightly against you. 
  * “How’s that, babydoll?”
  * Now that you had a second to relax, the burn had disappeared. There wasn’t any overt pleasure, and you felt oddly full in your belly. Experimentally, you tightened yourself around him.
  * That felt better, but the effect on Beetlejuice was immediate.
  * _“Fuck–-_ take it easy, baby, or I’ll be done too soon!”
  * You grinned at the power you had, and squeezed your pussy again. 
  * The sound that he makes during that is different than any you’d ever heard from him before: a deep, lingering groan that starts at the bottom of his lungs. You love it. 
  * “Two can play at that game–”
  * He starts slow movements, and after you’re accustomed to it, you understand what all the fuss is about.
  * His cock is just right. The thrusting, the friction is divine. Sounds you’d never made before escape you. You grasp at his waist, his shoulders, any place you can hold to keep him close. Automatically your hips rise to meet his.
  * Pleasure originates in your gut and blossoms to another orgasm that is different but just as good as what his fingers or mouth can do to you. You can’t control how tightly you hold on to him through it. 
  * Once again Beetlejuice gives you a moment to savor your orgasm, but before you catch your breath he picks up his pace. You’re loose and wet and urge him on with kisses pressed against the side of his head and locking your legs around his back. The quicker movements are just as good.
  * He buries his face into your neck and shoulder with a cry and only just manages to pull out before he comes into his own hand.
  * “Sorry, babe, didn’t know if you were ready for something like that,” he pants, indicating the load of come smeared in his palm. 
  * You offer him a handful of tissues to clean up. 
  * You’re sated and your pussy feels tingly, and you can’t wait to do it again. And again, and again, and again …!




	5. Holidays Suck

It wasn’t hard to see which residence stood out from the rest. Even Beetlejuice noticed it, and he could care less about breather’s traditions.  


He found you on the couch, in the dark, curled up. It was a stark contrast from everything else in the outside world, a place where lights blinked on and off, where bright windows framed families sitting down to giant dinners, or sat near fireplaces and talked, or sang, or napped, or did every other sappy trope like the whole world was a Hallmark movie. 

Here there were no little lights, or decorations, or anything festive.

“Hey babydoll,” he said. His voice was subdued, like he was afraid to break the silence.

“Hey Beej,” you croaked back. 

He shifted on his feet in front of you. It wasn’t often he wasn’t exploding with energy or literally bouncing off the walls; he was really affected by the gloom.

“What’s … ah, what’s up?”

You knew he could probably see you, even in this dark, so you managed a smile that was more sad than not. 

“I just … have a hard time during the holidays. You know.”

Beetlejuice gave you a hybrid of a shrug and a nod. He didn’t understand. Nobody did.

But unlike other people, he didn’t press you to explain. He didn’t demand to understand. He didn’t try to make you see how fun the holidays were supposed to be. He didn’t do anything, in fact, except plop down too close beside you on the cushion of the couch. It made you rock a little, off balance, towards him.

He put his arm around you.

“Beej …”

“What, babydoll?”

You sighed, and whispered, “You don’t have to stick around here with me. I know how pathetic it is.”

“Pathetic? What are you talking about? Sitting here, in the beautiful dark, in the beautiful quiet, with my beautiful you?”

Bless him, he sounded sincere.

He nudged you closer, and you took the invitation to snuggle into his side. It took your thoughts a long time to settle; longer than it took your body. The past was demanding and hard to forget. Beetlejuice was quiet and didn’t move. He just sat with you comfortably.  
Finally the dark and the quiet and his solid presence relaxed you. It was nice to just be.

Beetlejuice brushed your hair back and planted a kiss on your temple. 

“Hey babe?”

“Yeah?”

Your eyes had adjusted enough you could see the smirk on his face. 

“You know what else is fun in the dark?”

You pushed into his shoulder with a laugh as you rolled your eyes.

“Hey babe?”

“What, Beej?”

“ … so … you wanna?”

You didn’t even have to ask for clarification.

“It’ll be the start of our own holiday traditions,” he suggested slyly.

How could you say no to that?

_fin!_


	6. Touch

“Lay down.”

“Move your hands.”

“I said, move your hands.”

You’d agreed to let Beetlejuice have control tonight, but were beginning to regret it. He hadn’t been mean, per se, but had taken on a colder aloofness that was unexpected and something that you weren’t sure you liked. 

If you’d been asked, you’d have bet that he’d just want something raunchy and hardcore. But instead he’d given you direct, succinct orders while he stood looking down at you. You wished you could have taken a clue about how he was actually feeling by his hair color, but it’d been its typical dark-shot-through-with-green, so that was no help at all.

He’d also told you to keep your eyes closed, and you were afraid he’d do something like blindfold you if you peeked. 

Beetlejuice had asked you to disrobe. When you balked, he at least allowed you to turn out the lights first. You heard the amusement in his voice, and you remembered that he had once mentioned that as a demon he could see in the dark. But it made you feel better. 

So the lights were out, and he’d continued to give you instructions. Now you were on your back, hands at your sides instead of over your stomach, eyes shut–although if you opened them you wouldn’t be able to see anything anyway–and you sensed rather than felt Beetlejuice was leaning over you.

You jumped when his chilly hand stroked your arm. Although he was giving you simple orders, he apparently didn’t feel the need to tell you what he was planning.

He ignored your flinch, and repeated the motion. 

It felt nice, those long leisurely touches. One hand followed the other, like an endless loop, and it relaxed you. It felt good on your arms, and your lower legs, and your shoulders, even on your collarbones, but when his attention turned to parts of you that you weren’t incredibly happy with, you tensed.

Beetlejuice tsk’ed as your hands automatically went to cover those particular areas as he touched them, starting with your thighs.

“Hands down, babe.”

Reluctantly you complied. What he’d done so far had been good, so you worked hard to let him continue. With patience you never imagined he had, Beetlejuice massaged your thighs until you were mostly relaxed again. 

Unfortunately, the whole process started over when his hands went to your stomach. You almost folded in the middle, and his hands had warmed up enough you couldn’t blame your reaction on them being too cold. 

“Hands,” was all he had to say to remind you what he expected of you.

This time you had to grip the sheets below you to keep them from trying to cover “a problem area”, as the fashion magazines called it. And it took you even longer to relax, but Beetlejuice didn’t rush anything; he simply continued to stroke your skin with even movements. 

When you were finally loose and drifting from the attention, his hand dragged itself up your chest–the closest he got to an erogenous zone–and somehow he was suddenly able to twist enough to massage the sides of your head with both hands. His fingers ran from your forehead to your temples and down along your jawline to your chin.

There was no way he missed you clenching your teeth tightly. 

At least this time you left your hands at your sides. 

“Shh,” he whispered. 

With effort you kept your eyes screwed shut and you lay still, even though you wanted to shake his hands off you. He must have understood that this was difficult for you, so his touch became lighter, even though he didn’t stop.

His fingers stroked the fine bones in your brow, and followed them under your eyes. He applied a bit more pressure to your temples until your jaw loosened, then used sweeping pulls on the soft tissue of your cheeks and on your forehead to relax you more. 

Despite the fact you never really wanted anyone to purposefully touch areas you didn’t particularly like, it felt nice. 

You could tell he when he was almost finished when he simply held your face in his hands for several moments. Before you could say anything, Beetlejuice murmured, 

“Thank you.”

Thank you? You hadn’t done anything!

“I like being able to touch you,” he continued quietly. “Your skin is soft. My hands aren’t cold now, and it’s because of you. It makes me happy that you trust me enough to touch your warm, beautiful body.”

Your eyes had adjusted to the dark and you could see some of him, sitting on the bed near your head. Details were washed out though. Once again you wondered what color his hair was. But it didn’t really matter. 

You raised a hand and caught one of his. You pressed a kiss into his palm and his fingers jerked; you’d surprised him like he had you tonight. Even in the dark–or maybe because of it; he was a demon after all–the smile that crossed his face was visible to you. 

You returned it gladly. 

_fin_


	7. melancholia

There was a knock at your door.

You ignored it.

Whoever was out there ignored your ignoring, and in the next moment you felt Beetlejuice’s presence at the side of your bed. You didn’t turn over to face him.

“Babes, you’ve been in here for like, nine days.”

You knew that. You didn’t have the energy to respond.

You couldn’t hear him move anywhere in the room. Of course, you didn’t hear the door open or close either; one thing that you had to get used to was the fact he wasn’t bound by conventional things like walls or doors or personal space. He was at your back, and then suddenly, he was in front of you. 

He crouched down and looked you in the face. You half met his gaze, and half let your eyes grow vacant. You saw him frown.

“Babes, I’ve missed you.”

You wanted to miss him too, but the weight holding you down crushed most emotion out too. You felt flattened and dull.

Beetlejuice’s hand brushed against your forehead and into your hair. He didn’t push too hard, fortunately; you knew he felt the solid mass of uncombed, unwashed hair under his fingers. You hated it, but you couldn’t even fathom doing anything like simply combing it. It was beyond you.

His hand pulled away. You thought he’d leave you now. It was what you expected. It was what you deserved. 

But he only examined you again. Through your half-lidded eyes you saw that there was an odd mixture of colors deep in his hair: purples and blues, with a rare streak of red. The overall color of it was dark. It was a combination you’d never seen before. You wished you’d cataloged what each color meant, like you’d planned to do previously. It was too late for that now, and you thought it would be rude to ask him. 

“You haven’t been up for a while, have you baby?” Beetlejuice asked very quietly. 

You managed to shake your head. Your neck was sore, and you hated that just responding with an answer he obviously already knew made tears well up in your eyes. 

You watched him worry his lower lip with sharp teeth. He paused like he was going to say something else, but didn’t. 

In the next second, with no warning, he was gone. 

If asked, you would have said you didn’t want company. You hadn’t changed your clothes in days. Your joints ached. You were passed being hungry. You knew you were poor company. But now that he was gone, it felt even worse to be alone. The tears that flooded your eyes fell, and you wept silently into your pillow. 

You don’t know how long you cried. Time stretched like taffy. You lay with your eyes open, staring at nothing, with your cheek on a damp spot on your pillow. 

You didn’t flinch when a hand took your shoulder. 

Gently, you were pulled to your back.

“Come on, baby,” Beetlejuice said.

You wanted to ask what he meant. You were in no shape to go anywhere. But instead of waiting for an answer, he simply slipped an arm under your shoulders and the other under your knees, and picked you up. 

You hadn’t really moved much lately, and it hurt. You’d have fought against him, but you were too drained. 

It was easy to forget that Beetlejuice was stronger than he looked. He carried you easily out of the bedroom, bridal style, and even made sure not to hit your head on the doorframe. That had happened previously, in sillier times, when you and he were fooling around. It almost made you smile to remember times like that. 

He didn’t care that your clothes were filthy and you were just overall grungy. You’d never cared that he was more on the grimy side than not; in fact, at least now the two of you kind of matched.

So you never expected him to take you directly to the bathroom.

Inside the small tiled room, the shower was already running. There was steam on the mirror, which made you glad because then you couldn’t see yourself. Carefully, Beetlejuice set you down. Your knees gave out, however, and he held on to you to keep you upright. 

“Let’s take a shower, baby.”

In the state you were in, you didn’t know you were capable of surprise. Beetlejuice had never, ever suggested bathing. You’d sort of wondered if he had a phobia of water, or if he melted like the Wicked Witch of the West, or if being dirty was some kind of demon status symbol, or something. 

“What?” you managed to croak. 

He gestured towards the shower. 

“You. Me. Shower.”

You had to be hallucinating. But during your lack of response, Beetlejuice dropped his jacket and loosened his tie. He shrugged out of his suspenders, letting them hang down from his waist, and went to work on the chipped buttons of his shirt. Your fingers ached, so there was no way you could even begin to undress, even though you were a bit intrigued.

When Beetlejuice realized you were still just standing, he stopped. 

“Well this is stupid,” he announced. 

You couldn’t agree more. Now you could get back into bed.

With barely a nod, both you and he were nude in a blink. That did finally make you flinch a little, and Beetlejuice gathered you against him. Then, before you could move or say anything or think, you were both under the showerhead. 

The water was the perfect temperature, not too hot and not too cold. Somehow Beetlejuice made it just right, despite his self-admitted lack of human body temperature. He sputtered a bit under the spray, gasping for air as if he hadn’t realized he could breathe while getting splashed in the face. He looked more surprised than you felt, even though it had been his idea. 

He didn’t fuss much more than that, however. Instead, he focused on you.

He made sure you were appropriately wet. He found shampoo and put too much of it in your hair, then massaged it and your scalp with his slightly ragged fingernails. They pulled a bit, but felt okay in a good way. He repeated the process until the water ran clear. Then he applied conditioner to your hair, and let it sit while he lathered up a washcloth.

Beetlejuice paid the same attention to the rest of you as he did your dirty hair. He washed every inch of your skin from head to feet, lifting your arms to get underneath them and helping steady you when he bumped your knee so you’d stand on one foot to get between your toes.  
He never made it uncomfortable or suggested anything saucy; he just cleaned you.

By the time he was done, the conditioner was gone from your hair, leaving it feeling slick and soft.

The amount of soap he used cleaned his hands and forearms, by default. When you pointed it out to him, he seemed surprised again, then gave you a crooked grin and asked if he should continue, or if you wanted to help?

So you took the washcloth, wrung out a majority of the remaining suds, and copied what he’d done to you. By the time you were done, his pale skin was almost luminescent. Some spots where you had to scrub a little harder to get some particularly deep crud off of him were reddish. His cheeks were red too, but that was more a blush than anything else. 

You washed his hair too. Instead of being a solid color as most hair was when wet, it still retained locks of color. The blues were gone; in there place were streaks of various pinks and the undertone of green that was close to normal. Under your fingers you still found the occasional red. You would have to ask him about that later.

Once all the suds on both of you were washed away, Beetlejuice pressed his forehead to yours. He reached around you to turn the water off, and the bathroom suddenly sounded very quiet without the shower running. 

With his hair plastered flat on his head, Beetlejuice looked a little deflated, a little like the stereotypical drowned rat. You giggled but checked yourself before announcing that out loud; he would take it literally and you had no desire to actually receive a waterlogged rodent as a well-meaning but kind of gross gift. 

He beamed at your little laugh. Just as you’d been spirited into the shower, you were spirited out of it too, and found yourself swaddled in a thick towel and robe. They didn’t look familiar. You didn’t care. Quickly but gently your hair was combed. The conditioner helped loosen the knots, and Beetlejuice was overly careful about not pulling it.

Out of nowhere you found a toothbrush with a dab of paste on it in your hand. Automatically you went through the motions of brushing your teeth. 

While you brushed your teeth, Beetlejuice shook himself like a dog, re-spraying you with droplets of water and making you laugh in protest before drying himself off too. His hair stuck out a little more wildly than normal, drooping at the ends from the water still in it. Quickly he wiped himself dry, wrapped another towel around his waist, and lead you back to your bedroom. 

It’d been straightened. Not perfectly; mostly things on the floor had been pushed closer to the walls so there was space to walk. Enough tidiness to be noticeable. The soiled sheets on your bed had been removed and replaced with fresher ones. The bed wasn’t made, though, all the new sheets and blankets were still in a messy pile at the foot of the bed.

“Clones. They do their best, but without direct supervision …” Beetlejuice explained a little sheepishly, his voice trailing off before completing the sentence. 

You managed a smile. 

You were still tired. The warm water had eased some of the aches in your body, but they weren’t gone completely. As he gently disrobed you and helped you back into the bed, drawing the top sheet and blanket to cover you up, Beetlejuice said, 

“Get some real rest, baby. When you wake up we’ll get some food in you, okay?”

For a second you had a flash of panic. 

“Don’t leave me!” you begged.

Immediately, towel still around him and dripping hair and all, Beetlejuice clambered onto the mattress and under the blankets beside you. He pulled you against him, nothing inappropriate, nothing sexual, just his damp chest against your skin, holding you tightly. He didn’t whisper nonsense words to you. He didn’t say anything. His actions this entire time spoke volumes, however. 

You were able to follow his instructions, though, and the last thing you saw before you fell into a real sleep was his hair was once again a soft green. He was content, and you settled closer to him with a little more peace of mind as well. 

_fin_


	8. Wanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nsfw Beej/trans male reader, self loathing, support/comfort, smut

Nothing was right. Nothing.

Standing in front of the full length mirror in your bedroom wasn’t helping, because it only showed you exactly what you didn’t like, but you couldn’t look away. As much as you wanted to close your eyes, a small evil voice inside your head didn’t allow them to shut, and you saw everything wrong.

Tears wanted to fall. You held yourself in check by holding your breath as long as possible; when you released it your lower lip trembled and it came out ragged. 

You hadn’t realized your bedroom door was open until Beetlejuice gave a low whistle.

Startled, you jumped. You tried to wipe your face and drop your shirt to cover yourself again, but in your mild panic of being caught in a private moment, neither of those movements quite worked out the way you wanted them to. 

Beetlejuice didn’t help either. Between one second and the next, he’d crossed the room and was behind you, a set of hands on your hips and another around your waist while he pressed himself up against your back. That made it difficult to pull your shirt back down.

“Baby, if I knew you were putting on a show I’d have been right here as your most appreciative audience,” he purred in your ear. 

“Oh Beej, don’t,” you said. You didn’t trust your voice not to crack, so you spoke in a whisper. 

“Don’t what, baby?” he replied, swaying a little to some rhythm in his head. His mouth was dangerously close to your ear, and you shivered a little. In the mirror, you saw him smirk and he planted a kiss on the side of your neck. His hands–all four of them–made their own abstract patterns on your skin.

“Don’t … don’t act like this is all okay!”

He didn’t move away from your neck, but did look up and meet your eyes in the reflection. Immediately the extra pair of arms and hands vanished, like that had been the problem.

“Sorry,” he mumbled into your hair. 

“No! What? That’s not the problem!”

“Then what, babes?”

For some reason, the fact that he just couldn’t understand your distress made that sadness bubble up again. You wanted to be strong, you wanted to brush it off, but it was just too deeply seated to ignore, and that same evil voice twittered its triumph.

“This! All this!” you exclaimed. You were right, your voice did waver and crack, but now you couldn’t care about that. You made a wild gesture at the mirror with one hand and an even wilder, more vague gesture at yourself, and tried once again to pull your stupid shirt down to cover everything. To cover you, to hide you away from eyes, including yours.

A genuine look of confusion furrowed Beetlejuie’s face. “Baby …?” He let his question linger.

Tears made your eyes burn, and when you blinked, they fell. Angrily, you said, “All this, Beej! All this ugly, wrong body of mine! It’s wrong and I-I just want it to be right and it isn’t and I just can’t–-”

The rest of your sentence was choked off as your throat threatened to close up with the amount of rage and sorrow you tried to keep in.

You’d expected him to release you. You’d expected him to have the dawning realization that you were too broken for him to be with, that he’d made a mistake about being with you. You expected him to make an excuse and leave. You wouldn’t blame him.

But Beetlejuice, contrary specter that he was, didn’t. He didn’t let you go. He didn’t step away. The only change on his face was a softening, not the horror and disgust that you thought should be there. 

“Baby-–” he said again, and you interrupted with, 

“Don’t you get it?! I can barely stand to look at myself! Why should you? Why do you?!”

You tried to cover yourself again, still attempted to pull your shirt completely down to hide the source of your perceived shame, but Beetlejuice twisted the t-shirt up and didn’t allow you to complete the concealment. The anger inside you fizzled out against his insistence. You gave up and stood passively, but averted your eyes from seeing yourself in the mirror. 

Beetlejuice didn’t. He stood solidly behind you, holding you in place. One hand held your tightly bunched shirt as well as your side, and the other moved from its place on your hip to the side of your chest. His fingers were cool as they dragged over your skin.

You couldn’t help but whimper a little bit as his fingertips ghosted over the scar on your chest, following it like a trail. 

“Look,” Beetlejuice demanded quietly. 

With hesitation, you obeyed. You looked at the reflection of the two of you in the mirror, and more tears fell. Beetlejuice released your shirt and wiped your face dry.

“What do you see?” he whispered into your ear. 

“I-I … I see a broken man being held by a wonderful man who deserves so much more–-”

“I see _us,”_ interrupted Beetlejuice. 

You hiccupped a little through the tears. 

He continued. “I see a beautiful, handsome man who puts up with a dead guy. I see someone who is just right. Inside and out. I see you, and you’re exactly what I love.”

You choked out a real sob.

Beetlejuice turned you on your heel to face him and kissed you. It was quick and sloppy and too unrefined to convey anything but desire, but you clung to him and returned it.

Beetlejuice walked backwards, pulling you along with him. There was a bump when his knees hit the side of the bed, then he sat down and kept you close even as it broke the kiss. You whimpered again, a less pained noise this time. The sound made the specter flash you a smile. With his hands on your waist he maneuvered you to straddle his lap, precariously perched on the edge of the mattress and he tugged you down for another kiss. 

He stole your breath.

When you pulled back for air, he didn’t let you go far; a hand on the back of your neck kept your forehead pressed to his. He was too close to see clearly.

“I want you, baby,” he said quickly. “You’re perfect and desirable. There’s no shame in your body.”

Part of you still wanted to argue and protest, but you could feel his obvious arousal pressing against you. That couldn’t be faked. And warmth had spread through your belly too. You couldn’t deny that either. 

You gave him a quick nod, not dislodging your forehead from his, and he broke the contact when his mouth captured yours again. His tongue was slick against yours, darting through your lips and retreating as you did the same. He gave you sips of air, but now you wanted to keep kissing, keep his mouth on yours, until your lungs demanded a real breath.

He grabbed your hips and ass and yanked you further into his lap so you were pressed tightly pelvis to pelvis. 

He moaned wordlessly, then muttered, “I want you so bad-–” into your mouth.

You nodded again, still not trusting your voice. But at your second approval, Beetlejuice’s hands were everywhere on you. It may have been more than two; you couldn’t tell. In no time you’d lost your shirt and didn’t even care as he kissed you a little harder, and sucked your lower lip for a second before latching on to your neck. 

Your back arched involuntarily at the bite-y little kiss he planted there, then because you were still in his lap his mouth started downward, leaving wet marks as a trail of his progress. You almost pushed him away, another involuntarily response, as he moved from kissing your sternum to one of horizontal scars on your chest, but he only gave it a lick and didn’t linger on the spot. His body contorted in a way that was impossible for someone living and he finished by drawing his tongue back up your body from stomach to the hollow between your collarbones. 

Wrapping your arms around his head, you planted a kiss on top of his head, right in his hair, and you felt him chuckle.

In a flash, you found yourself on your back, naked, with a nude Beetlejuice on top of you. Sometimes you hated when he just did that, but this time you let his eagerness wash over you. It was nice to have something positive to focus on. 

Once again his hands and mouth explored you. He tickled and teased, and you caught him giving quick smiles through the kisses he covered you with whenever you moaned or writhed. Eventually, once your skin was lightly marked with thin scratches from his nails and red spots from where he’d either sucked or used his teeth just the other side of gentle, he’d moved bodily enough his face was between your legs.

There was a pause, and when you lifted your head to look at him, Beetlejuice crooked an eyebrow at you.

“This okay, baby?” he asked. 

“Oh yes–-”

“That’s my good boy,” he muttered, and dragged his tongue, long and hard, against you.

You bucked against him. Beetlejuice sucked and licked and purred, sending vibrations through you. You moaned and gripped what you could reach, the specter’s hair and shoulder to both keep him in place and because a teensy, evil part of your brain still worried he would stop and bolt. 

Beetlejuice didn’t, of course. He had to know you were close to climax when you couldn’t prevent tightening your grip on him and you voice caught in your throat, so he simply paused and held direct pressure against you with the flat of his tongue until you unraveled in the bliss. With a sharp cry and tensing throughout your core, you came. Your trembling thighs closed around his head.

It took several moments before you gained your senses back and you were able to release him. Residual tremors of bliss gave you random shakes. From his position between your legs, Beetlejuice grinned up at you. 

“You taste so good,” he said, and pulled his tongue along you one last time.

You jerked at the stimulation and cried out again. 

His grin widened, and he stood up. That same evil voice in your brain whispered the irony that a dead guy with random spots of mold on his fish-belly pale skin didn’t have hangups about his body like you did, but a louder voice–and your arousal–shouted for it to shut the fuck up.

To your surprise, the small voice did.

Beetlejuice looked down on you like you were art. He didn’t rejoin you on the mattress; he shifted you until you were perpendicular to it and he was standing between your legs. You reached forward and scratched your fingernails down his belly, and he groaned. Your fingers encircled his cock and gave him a twisting tug, and his chin dropped to his chest to both watch and groan again. 

He managed to drag his gaze away from what your hand was doing to your face again. 

“Is this okay?” he asked again. “I’d love to fuck you, baby, but if you’d rather fuck me, I’d love that too. That’d be _sublime.”_

It wouldn’t take long to switch positions, but that wasn’t anything you’d thought about tonight. And he’d primed all your nerve-endings, so-–

“Fuck me, Beej!” you agreed, with the faintest plead in your voice. “Oh, please-–”

He didn’t need a second invitation. Holding himself by the base of his cock, he rocked his hips forward and filled you. He released himself and drove fully into you, his mouth falling open with a moan as he did. Once again your back arched and you matched his moan with your own.

Beetlejuice started slowly, minute thrusting of his hips that created delicious friction that built on itself exponentially. He groaned in time to his rhythm, and you did too, and when you were able to open your eyes you found him watching you. Once he saw you caught him looking, his hands went to your chest and he traced random designs over you.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he told you. “I love your body. I love your soft skin. I love that I can see a mark right here-–” His fingers brushed against a red spot where he’d sucked a little too long, earlier. “–-and know that I did that, that you let me do that to you. I love that you let me use my mouth on you. I love the taste of you, the feel of you–-fuck, fuck!”

His dirty praise was wonderful, but it kicked your arousal higher and you couldn’t help but clench around him. When he stopped watching his hands and flicked his eyes back up to yours, the direct eye contact made every nerve in your body flare, and it had nothing and everything to do with his cock driving into you.

He must have felt some jolt of additional pleasure too, because he couldn’t form words any longer. He dropped himself on top of you, belly to belly, chest to chest, and buried his face in your neck. His arms wrapped under your armpits and shoulders. His hips lost their smooth, easy rhythm and he fucked you hard, pounding a pace that made you gasp and clutch at him and beg him not to stop, please don’t stop, please please please–-

The pleasure inside you was unadulterated and dense, and you came again with a cry that wavered. Beetlejuice halted his movements, keeping deep his cock inside you as euphoria rolled in waves through you. This must be what heaven felt like, white hot bliss inside and comforting weight pressing you, holding you steady, keeping you close.

Beetlejuice jerked awkwardly and you felt his teeth on your neck, but you were too lost in pleasure to acknowledge any of that.  
By the time you were finally able to catch your breath again, Beetlejuice had pulled away a little. Your skin pulled a little as he did; your tacky sweat had glued him to you. He smiled and untwisted his arms from you, the held himself up and looked down at you.

You brushed some stray hairs off his forehead.

“Wh-what …” Your voice stuck for a second, so you paused and cleared your throat. “What can I do for you, Beej? Do you want a different position?”

His grin widened enough to show his teeth. “No need, baby. I came.”

You hadn’t even realized! He saw that and chuckled. 

“Seeing you, feeling you come-–I just couldn’t help myself.”

You felt a little bad that you had no idea, but Beetlejuice wouldn’t have any of it. As you babbled an apology, he dropped down on top of you and kissed you, dipping his tongue through your lips muffling your words. When you finally stopped trying to talk and once again wrapped your arms around his head and neck, he smiled against your mouth. 

He gave you one last teasing lick across the tip of your tongue, then pulled away again. You gazed up at him with a smile. You felt sated and tired. 

Carefully he rocked back and eased himself out of you. You felt empty without him, but he once again shifted you around on the mattress so you were laying properly, then he tucked himself and a blanket around you, spooning you, one arm slipped under yours and across your chest.

The evil voice that lived in the corner of your brain stayed quiet, and that made you smile.

_fin._


	9. Taking A Chance

Sometimes you just couldn’t _stand_ it.

Beetlejuice, that chaotic ghost-demon who had come into your life, was just sitting there, minding his own business, picking at his fingernails, and you couldn’t help yourself.

“Beej–” you said, then stopped, cutting any further sentence off.

“Hmm, sugar?” he absently replied, still engrossed with the nail on his first finger. 

You scooted over on the sofa to be right next to him. On the same cushion. Right up against him. 

“Beej!”

“What, doll?”

You took a breath and wanted to control yourself. Then you thought, why?

“Beej, you are so awesome,” you blurted, with a rush of air.

He half-shrugged. “Uh-huh.”

“No, I mean it,” you insisted. “You’re just … awesome. You can do all these cool things–manipulate the physical world, throw your voice, pop up here or there! Disappear! And your clones! It’s just … wow.”

Beetlejuice nodded slightly as you said your list. His voice was a touch on the smug side as he replied, “Yeah, I know that, baby. It is pretty cool.”

You weren’t getting through to him. He really wasn’t _listening._ There was so much more. Your heart was going to burst if you didn’t just get all these words out. To make sure he was really paying attention, you physically took his face in your hands and made him look at you.

“Your eyes are so pretty,” you told him, but it wasn’t enough. How could you make him understand? “They’re this amber color, and they have flecks of gold in them. They’re tiger’s eye! There’s this depth to them that I could get lost in. I would have never known your eyes were so gorgeous if I’d never gotten to know you so well.”

A faintly confused expression had come over his face, but at least he was paying attention now. 

The floodgates were opened, and you continued. “You’re surprisingly strong. Is that because you were strong in life, or because you’re … what you are now? It doesn’t matter,” you answered yourself. You kissed his cheek. “I like your scruff. I like this little bit of mold right here.” Your finger tapped a spot underneath his left ear. “I like your smile, and the short fangs you have–that would scare some people, but not me!” 

You interrupted yourself to kiss his other cheek. The confused look that furrowed his brow was gone; Beetlejuice’s new expression was softer. A faint light of surprise was in those golden eyes. 

“And your hair!” you babbled. “I know it embarrasses you sometimes, showing your emotions when you’d rather keep them hidden, but I love that color starts at your temples and works its way through. I know when you’re sad and upset, and I know when you’re getting flustered, like now–-”

Beetlejuice’s gaze flicked up, away from yours, as if he could catch sight of the pale pink that had bloomed near his scalp.

While he was distracted, you grew bold, and kissed him on the mouth. It was the briefest, most cowardly kiss, but you just couldn’t help it.

Beetlejuice jumped as your lips met his. A deeper pink flared upward in his hair.

You stroked his beard gently and finished your unsolicited praise. “I like you, Beej. I just … had to tell you.”

Suddenly you were out of breath and your throat hurt a little, like you’d been trying not to cry. You’d bottled all that up for some time now, and to get it out felt both a relief and truthfully, a little bit scary. You had no idea how he would possibly react to all that. 

Beetlejuice still looked surprised and now stunned you’d kissed him. He opened his mouth, then closed it, and you were suddenly worried; it wasn’t often he was speechless. 

Before you could tell him you were sorry or that he didn’t have to say anything or just forget it, his hands came up and took your face too. His palms were chilly but he wasn’t rough, and before you could say anything, now, he kissed you back. It was more than you’d done, with more intent, with meaning behind it. 

When you had to stop because you’d run out of air, he didn’t back away. Although you’d dropped your hands to his chest, he kept hold of your face. He rested his forehead on yours. His eyes were closed.

“Why would you say all that?” he whispered. There was a twinge of worry in his voice, like he was frightened of the answer. Like he expected you to laugh. Or tell him you were teasing. Or tell him it was all a lie.

“Because it’s true,” you replied instantly. “I like how you’re you, Beej. And I’d like to know you better …”

He opened his eyes to yours at that. His beautiful, amber-and-gold eyes. They were alight with joy. Feeling even bolder than when you planted a surprise kiss on him, you told him all the pet names he used-–sugar, baby, babes, doll–-you wanted them to be _your_ names, not just a tease or a filler like he did for everyone. You wanted something special with him, something more. 

Beetlejuice listened intently and nodded towards the end, and just as the last word left your mouth he kissed you again, and again. 

“I want that too,” he admitted. “I’ve wanted that, but always thought why would a sweet breather like you want to have anything to do with me?”

You shushed his self-depreciating talk with another kiss. You wanted him, he wanted you. That was all that mattered at this moment in time.

_fin!_


	10. Overprotective Pregnancy Headcanons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SFW, musical!Juice, pregnancy, a nod to og Juice, clones, and fluff

• Let’s not bogged down biologic detail (or lack thereof) here: you were pregnant by Beetlejuice

• You didn’t use protection, because who’d have thought it was even possible? 

• So here you were, feeling bloated, craving–of all things–crickets and mealworms, and lying to your doctor about who the father was. When the questions got too prying, you stopped going to him and hired a midwife

• Beetlejuice, when he’d finally wrapped his head around the reality of the situation, was alternately pleased as Punch and an anxious wreck.

• His anxiety stemmed from two places: that he’d never known his own father, who left when he was too young to remember him, and that his mother was a demon, and he had no idea what she would do to a baby he created 

• He pampered you to the point of excess. You didn’t have to lift a finger, he said (but you actually did because him cleaning the house tended to leave it in a worse state than it started in) (don’t even bring up the time he tried to make pancakes and got batter in the ceiling!), I’ll take care of you and everything!

• Once you came home and found a room painted in garish purples, greens, white and black, like the worst imitation of a Pollack you’d ever seen, but Beej was so proud of the work he put into the nursery you only repainted three quarters of the room and left his as an accent wall

• He also found–or created, you were never quite sure–a mobile to hang over the crib. It was pointed up top like a circus tent. It was black and white striped, of course, and featured tiny animals you’d never seen before hanging down on strings. He called one a razor pig and another looked like a dragon. There was a sandworm and some crab-like creature he couldn’t or wouldn’t name. The animals chased each other, bobbing up and down like a carousel when he touched it. It never turned on for you. A haunting melody accompanied it; it wasn’t creepy or scary, as you might have expected. The tune was soft and more melancholy than not, but you let it stay too. 

• When you were close to giving birth, his clones were always around. Always. Around. You were never left alone in a room; either Beetlejuice himself or a clone was there. You had no privacy. 

• His clones never tried to clean–thank god–but they were ready to massage your feet and lower back at a moment’s notice. That was amazing.

• You managed to convince him there were to be no clones in the room when you gave birth. 

• To win that argument, you told him to have his clones stationed throughout the house and outside the bedroom door in case his mother did show up for the joyous occasion. They’d be no use against her, you knew, but they would provide a distraction and give you and him time to prepare for her.

• The midwife you’d chosen was discreet. She never said a word about any of the odder aspects of the house, the father, or the random clones.

• The birth itself was not as bad as you expected. Oh, it was bad, but the baby was small and once it was put on your chest and in your arms the pain was forgotten. 

• Demon children, or exactly what your baby was, didn’t have a particular gender at birth. It was a good thing you had plenty of gender-neutral clothing, even if it ran towards Beetlejuice’s favored colors, and even though some of it had ratty hems.

• The baby had a set of teeth when it was born. Wisely, you didn’t breastfeed.

• The baby ate the same variety of crickets, mealworms and such. “Just like me!” Beetlejuice exclaimed proudly. 

• If the clones were attentive before, it was nothing like they were now. They guarded that kid like they were Secret Service, and more than one took on the shape of a large, striped dog instead of a measly human. You got used to hellhounds underfoot.

• Beetlejuice was the most careful, worried parent you’d ever known. You tried to tell him nobody knows how to parent until they just do it. Watching them together made your heart warm, and you encouraged and praised him repeatedly that he was doing great.


	11. I think we just had a moment!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short and cracky

“You know what?” you said, out of the blue. “I really dislike The Music Man.”

Beetlejuice sat up, straight up, and stared at you wide-eyed. 

“I dislike The Music Man too!” he exclaimed. 

“But not Hugh Jackman. That man is a treasure.”

His voice ratcheted higher. “Hugh Jackman _is_ a treasure!”

His eyes were bright and his excitement was barely contained. He squealed, “I think we just had a moment!”

You laughed and agreed.


	12. I think we just had a moment!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW

Sometimes you didn’t have to say his name to summon him. Sometimes, your need was enough to wake him up, be a beacon, call him to you.

Tonight was one of those nights. When your fingers and toys weren’t enough, when you’d come but it wasn’t wasn’t exactly what you needed, Beetlejuice appeared beside your bed, disheveled and dusty, his moldy hair as wild as his eyes. 

He licked his lips and palmed himself through his pants as he took you in, sweaty and disheveled yourself, you own hand still between your legs.

Deliberately, you locked eyes with him and brought that hand to your mouth. You sucked your middle two fingers and just-so-slightly arched your back while rocking your pelvis, and without any other overt invitation, Beetlejuice was on you.

In the second between him standing and him being between your thighs, he was nude. His skin was chilly to the point of clamminess and his cock felt like an icicle against the folds of your pussy as he pressed its length against you. You didn’t care. You mewled and shifted under his weight, trying to move him into a more proper position.

Beetlejuice grinned and deliberately didn’t take your hint. He latched onto a nipple; yours were always sensitive and the temperature of his mouth plus the sharp nip he gave you made you jerk and cry out. You wrapped an arm around his head to keep him in place and whispered,

_“Harder-–”_

He complied, biting you with more intent and you gasped, and then had to grab him by his hair and shove him away, because sometimes he just didn’t stop.

The shit-eating grin he gave you made you pull him down for a tongue thrusting kiss that filled your mouth with the taste of dirt, and then you held him close and begged for him to fuck you, please!

He didn’t tease any longer. With a readjustment and a hand on his cock, the tip slipped into you and with a sharp thrust of his hips, he filled you.

Your already stimulated nerve-endings reawoke and the sensation of his cock inside you made you gasp, clutch him to you, and rock your pelvis up so he could be as deep as possible. 

Beetlejuice let you savor the bliss a moment, then he fucked you how you needed it tonight: hard, rough, his body pressing you into the mattress, grunting into your ear with each thrust, occasionally holding on to your neck with his teeth. You gave as good as you got, too. You pulled your fingernails up his back hard enough to make him hiss, then grabbed his ass with one hand while the other pushed between the two of you to rub your own clit. 

The end was soon. You didn’t need anything drawn out; you’d brought yourself to solo orgasm tonight and the first always set you up for more. With the hard pace he’d set, and your fingers on your clit, the pleasure rose until it was undeniable. Bright white euphoria exploded in your gut, and you arched against him, crying out wordlessly.

Beetlejuice didn’t let you ride that wave peacefully. He continued to fuck you through your climax, which kept the pleasure undulating. You lost your voice. When he bucked extra hard into you, his cock buried deeply in your pussy as he came too, you continued to hold him tightly until his tremors stopped and he was able to move off you, to your side. 

He drew his fingers down the side of your cheek before licking them, and then you realized you’d been crying from the force of your orgasm. 

In that gravely voice that gave you shivers, he told you, “I think we just had a moment, baby.” He was smug.

You rolled your eyes and dragged him closer again for another kiss.


	13. There's more important things we could be doing intead of sleeping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gender neutral reader

Beetlejuice didn’t need to sleep. In his quest to become living, with all its foibles, sometimes he pretended. Which was why he was laying on your mattress beside you, taking up all the room and blankets.

It was annoying! You seriously thought about kicking him or stealing his pillow. As you huffed and quietly grumbled beside him, he flipped over to face you.

“Hey baby,” he whispered right in your face. He wants to be alive so badly; maybe he should learn to brush his teeth.

You made an intelligble sound as a response. 

“Are you awake?”

You closed your eyes and counted to ten. You made it to six when he said, 

“There are more important things we could be doing instead of sleeping, you know. Why don’t you come over here and sit on my face?”

In surprise, you opened your eyes to his. Did his always shine in the dark? 

“Come on, baby, a nice orgasm’ll send you right off to the Land of Nod.”

You couldn’t deny it. With a grin you knew he could see, you sat up and shimmied yourself out of your underwear. Beetlejuice’s hands were grabby and warm from being tucked under the stolen blankets, and he helped put you into position: holding yourself off his abdomen with your hands on the mattress, thighs on either side of his head.

“Oh baby, I’m gonna eat you up,” you heard him mutter, and then his mouth was on you, licking, sucking, lapping, teasing. 

You cried out and made a concerted effort not to drop your pelvis hard onto him. You felt him chuckle, and his hands grabbed your hips.

With splayed fingers, he pulled you down exactly how you had tried not to do: full weight on his mouth and sinful tongue.

Arching your back, you let the pleasure roll through you. Beetlejuice was relentless, but it dawned on your rapidly shutting-down brain that this wasn’t exactly fair.

So you shifted your upper body. You pushed his underwear down as best you could and took a mouthful of his cock. Although he was turned on–-evidenced by the fact he had an erection, even though this was the first you’d touched him-–he obviously wasn’t expecting it. He jerked underneath you, which made you smile, then you swallowed him again.

Although Beetlejuice hadn’t abated lavishing attention on you, sucking his cock gave you something else to concentrate on, even if occasionally you gasped around it. You tried to mirror what he was doing to you and soon his entire groin, like yours, was dripping in spit.

Working him and trying to make him come first was your goal now. It compressed the pleasure that was building up inside you, and you didn’t think you were going to be able to outlast him–-

Beetlejuice’s hips jerked and he slapped your ass. That was the only warning you got as he tensed, cried out between your legs, and came on your tongue and down your throat. His come had a distinct taste, salt and moss, that you’d been conditioned to enjoy, and you held him tightly in your mouth until he relaxed. You released him with a soft ‘pop’ and swirled your tongue around the tip as a finale.

He groaned more deeply, and that vibration against you, while his mouth was on you, was enough to send you over the edge as well. You couldn’t help but grind down on him as you came, and his tongue continued working against you until you were spent and weak.

Carefully he peeled you off him and helped you resettle beside him. He wiped his face and you wiped yours, and the kiss you shared tasted a combination of you both. 

And he was right; you dropped off to sleep with no problem after that.


	14. Flirting

Beetlejuice was a flirt. He loved making people uncomfortable, loved going overboard. It all stemmed from the idea that any attention was good attention, so hardcore flirting and suggestive innuendos were high on his list. 

What he wasn’t good at was being on the receiving end.

When you decided to turn the tables on him–-because overall he was cutely clueless that you actually did want a relationship with him-–you did it with the corniest lines you could think of.

“Oh, Beej! Someone’s happy to see me,” you purred as you saucily brushed passed him in the hallway.

“My days always get better with you here,” you cooed, when he made a grand entrance in an attempt to simultaneously flirt and scare you.

Each and every time his hair flared the silliest color of pink. You told him it was adorable, and did the carpet match the drapes? You looked down him in case he was too dense to get the idea. That made his hair streak with a hot pink, and he stumbled over his words until he was able to escape the room.

After that little incident, you found him by himself on the sofa. He looked startled when you joined him.

“Why do you do that?” he asked quietly.

“Do what?”

“Say those things to me. Say things that are nice, and … a little like you’re hitting on me.”

He was so sweet, but so naive sometimes. You laid it out on the table for him.

“I am hitting on you, Beej.”

He looked even more startled at that revelation, and once again the roots of his hair began changing to pink.

“You … what? H-hitting on me? Why?”

You shrugged, even as you felt a little embarrassed now that he’d put you on the spot. “I like you, Beej. I know maybe all those times you were flirting with me you weren’t serious, but I am. Is that okay? I’ll stop if it makes you uncomfortable. Did I go too far?”

He thought about your questions for a moment, like he’d never realized he could have a say in how someone spoke to him. Finally, he whispered,

“No, it’s okay. I … I liked it.”

You leaned into his shoulder. “I liked you flirting with me too.”

He leaned back and nodded.

“I’d love to kiss you now, as a side note,” you dared to say, and that was when you found out that even his beard could hold a hint of pink.


	15. Wretched

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Low self worth and sadness. MusicalBeej.

Sometimes, it was too much.

Sometimes, he couldn’t help himself. 

He hated it, but sometimes it just had to be done. 

He’d tried ignoring it. But the couple he’d been watching--yes, he knew what they’d think of it, what _everyone_ would think of it--hadn’t stopped; their flirting intensified from simple hugs and kisses to actual petting.

He’d tried pressed his palm flat against his groin, trapping his erection between under fabric. But the couple he’d been watching had progressed to taking their clothes _off._

He’d tried not opening his trousers but simply shoving his hand over the waistband. That was uncomfortable enough that occasionally it worked. But the couple had abandoned their clothing and she was climbing over his legs, and Beetlejuice left.

On the roof was far away enough not to hear them. The images were burned into his mind’s eye, however, just like so many times before with the couple in this house and so many others though the years. Scenes played out behind his eyelids, in technicolor complete with sound, and he ached so much he gave up and opened his pants. 

The first solid grip his hand took on his cock made him groan in relief. He started slowly, a light touch, like a lover teasing him. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine someone else’s hand--or if he tried extra hard, a tongue!--on his shaft, licking and giving him butterfly kisses, igniting more and more nerve endings as he continued. 

His hand increased speed and pressure, making him moan out loud, now. A stronger grip, more intent. They’d tell him how much they liked doing this to him, how they liked hearing the sounds he made, how good they wanted to make him feel.

Inevitably, the more he stroked himself, as more pleasure blossomed in gut, the worse he felt.

He was a specter. He was a demon. He shouldn’t be jerking himself off; if he wanted sexual release he was supposed to take it by possession or by force. That was expected of him, but he just couldn’t do it. He didn’t want to take it; he wanted something mutual, and that distinction was just another example of what a bitter disappointment he was, what a worthless, lonely, shitty excuse of a demon and a son-- 

“--you shouldn’t have to _masturbate,_ you should take what you want like a proper demon, this is why I call you Lawrence, only real demons deserve their proper name, _you make me sick you’re so pathetic--”_

By the time he came, he was crying. 

Like always. 

Because he was lonely and pathetic.

Because he couldn’t take what other demons thought was their right. 

Because no one would ever see him, touch him, want to please or pleasure him. 

Beetlejuice sat on the roof, tucked himself away, and sobbed.


	16. Worthless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written from a low place.

There wasn’t any talk. You called him, he appeared. He knew what you wanted, and delivered.

Currently your face was in the mattress, your cheek feeling hot from the friction against the sheets with each thrust as he plowed into you. Usually you liked this; him being behind you, fucking you with single-minded determination, his cock splitting you open, his balls slapping against you, the occasional surprise of cold wetness on your pussy when he thought his spit was good enough for lube. 

Usually you liked this. Usually you loved this. But tonight, even though it’d been your idea all along, you had lied to yourself. Tears made the sheet wet below your cheek.

Outside the grunts when his thrusts forced the air out of your lungs you hadn’t made much noise tonight, but the gasps you made now caught his attention, and Beetlejuice stopped.

“What was that, baby?” he asked.

“N-nothing,” you managed to stutter out. 

Another lie, this time said aloud. One that he heard. He pulled out, grabbed your shoulder, and pulled you over to face him. You didn’t even try to stop him. His fingers took your jaw and held it painfully tight, even though you didn’t try to get away.

“Are you _crying?”_

He could see the answer to his own stupid question, but you replied, “Y-y-yes,” anyway. 

Through the tears half-blinding you, you saw a scowl cross his face. 

“It isn’t you!” you told him quickly, trying to wipe away the wet from tears and snot. 

If you could have wiped away the stuffy nose, swollen eyelids, and redness that always accompanied your crying, you would have. He didn’t release your jaw, which started to ache from his grip.

The expression on his face didn’t change; in fact, it grew harder and more judgmental. 

Despite actively trying to bring yourself back under control, your sobs increased, even as you insisted, _“It isn’t you!_ It has nothing to do with you--it’s work and all the shit I have to deal with and I’m tired and I just, I just--”

“I don’t fucking _care,”_ he interrupted, and let go of you by flicking his fingers, like he was trying to rid himself of something distasteful. 

With one last appraising look over you, a mix of disgust and disinterest in his eyes, he was gone. 

You were left on your bed, naked, in a room that was suddenly less lively without a dead guy in it. Even he couldn’t stand you. You understood why as you curled in on yourself and sobbed. You didn’t want to be with you either.


	17. Rim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The third in the tiny series of based on "Beetlejuice cries when he masturbates". The first is [Wretched](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21866551/chapters/56192980) and the second is [Jerk](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23558938).

“We talked about this, remember?”

He nodded, breathlessly. He’d gradually gotten a little more comfortable touching himself, but it was still a struggle. Shame had been driven into him and its roots were deep. Mutual masturbation was good. He was more okay with jerking off while you blew him; he seemed to like that, in fact. Tonight, though, you weren’t going to touch his cock. It was going to be him and him alone.

What you were going to do, to give him something else to focus on when he needed it, was rim him. You’d indulged in ass play randomly before, and he was down for just about anything, so you hoped he could continue to learn to associate something he liked with something he was ashamed to like. You hoped the good would help outweigh the bad. 

His torso propped on several pillows, he lifted his head to look down his body to you kneeling on the floor, between his thighs.

“What about you, baby?”

“What about me?” you countered, with a shrug. “We’ll get to me. I promise.”

Only semi-satisfied with that answer, he nodded and relaxed again.

You waited patiently. Moments ticked by. You rested your head against his inner knee, making him jump and look at you again. You raised your eyebrows.

“You’ve gotta start, Beej.”

“What? Oh …”

With a tremble, he dropped his left hand to his cock. It’d been more attentive when you’d stripped, but had softened after the mutual decision was made to play this way tonight. You decided that even if you weren’t going to actively touch his cock, you could encourage him.

Sitting up on your knees, you put your hands on his thighs and looked up at him.

“I like to see you like this,” you told him softly. “Spread out above me, your hand on yourself-–”

His grip tightened, like a reflex. You liked it.

“–-you always make me feel so good, Beej! I’m glad you’re willing to do this, it’s so hot to watch you touch yourself-–”

Your praise countered his guilt, and his cock stiffened. Smiling, you leaned down to almost put your lips on him, but didn’t. Breathing out, you let the warm moist air tickle him. He jumped and groaned, and his hand moved.

“–-good boy,” you continued to praise, your mouth still only a breath away from him. His hand moved with more purpose, and before long, his cock was fully hard. You almost broke the rule you’d both agreed on to kiss it, but restrained yourself.

Instead, you licked your first two fingers and slipped them down under his balls to his ass, stroking the puckered ring of muscle lightly. Beetlejuice jerked again, and you chuckled.

“You like that?” you asked.

Even though the question was rhetorical, he nodded and agreed with a moan. You kept pressure there with little circles to stimulated him, even as you continued to breath over his hand and cock. Once or twice you removed your hand to rewet your fingers; each time they returned you couldn’t help but notice his hand gripped himself a little tighter, or moved a little faster. 

You licked your lips. Beej was upholding his end of this agreement; time for you to do the same.

Lowering yourself again but blowing air out the entire time over his cock and balls, you got comfortable kneeling between his legs. He was already at the edge of the mattress, but you hooked an arm under one of his knees and hoisted his leg up so his foot rested on your thigh, canting his hips a little wonky on one side. You weren’t sure if he would feel too exposed with both legs up, so for the time being you left the other on the floor.

The readjustment of position was enough that you could press your face against him, and run your tongue over his asshole.

Although muffled, you heard him gasp. He tensed around you and you repeated it, laving him with spit. Keeping it up as long as you could, you had to take a moment to catch your breath. It was a good thing too, because you didn’t have his nifty trick of throwing your voice while your mouth was otherwise occupied.

You peeked up, past his erection, to his face.

“You’ve gotta keep using your hand,” you reminded him. “It’s an honor system, but that was the deal.”

With a self-conscious chuckle, he nodded. As if to prove he’d hold up his end of the bargain, he gave himself a stroke, which obviously felt good because he groaned.

Smiling at the pleasure he’d given himself, you returned to what you’d promised.

You licked and sucked at him, and when your jaw needed a break you put your fingers back onto him, drawing circles on his ass like he’d do to your clit. He alternated relaxing with tensing, depending on when he could remember to stroke his cock or if you varied what you did and surprised him. You didn’t slip a finger into him, although you considered it; if he seemed to have more difficulty jerking himself off you’d be more inclined. But as it were, you could feel the bounce and pull of his hand on his cock, the movements rippling down to his balls. His moans grew more intense too. You grinned at that.

Shoving your tongue against him hard enough to dip just inside him, you felt him tense again. You held yourself in position there, breathing through your mouth, and the tension became tremors in his thighs. Gripping him by a thigh and the opposite calf, you did not move back but continued to lap at his ass as it became obvious he was nearing the end.

Beetlejuice’s voice cut out. Open-mouthed groans devolved to a thin whine and everything about him stilled, then he almost folded himself in half during his release.

You would have loved to see him come over his hand and belly, but held your place between his legs as promised. Only when he began to relax in stages did you scoot away from him, wiping your chin and laying kisses on his inner thigh. There was a large wet spot on the bed linens under him. Looking up, you saw he was still gripping his cock and come had pooled on his belly.

His head lolled back along the pillows you’d propped him up on. He didn’t see your satisfied smile, but he did pick his head up as you climbed back onto the bed with him.

You lay beside him with your head on his arm.

“You good, Beej?”

He nodded like his neck was full of loosened joints. His eyes were still dark from residual arousal.

“That was amazing, baby … “

“I’m glad you liked it.”

Eyes closed, he nodded. He’d already pulled his hand back from his groin, but you didn’t draw attention to that. You smiled and stroked his chest. He needed cleaning up, but it was nice to just relax for the moment together.


	18. Two Lost Souls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SFW. Musical based. Takes place soon after the deceit that led to an exorcism and Lydia runs into the Netherworld.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the start of this when a friend( [beejiesbitch](https://beejiesbitch.tumblr.com/url) ) and I were talking about rare combinations in the fandom such as BeejxOtho or Beej and Delia being friendly. It’ll become obvious I didn’t finish it, but at least it’s a little something.

Otho had shrieked like a spider had been dropped down the back of his shirt and scrambled off to hide. Lydia had run through that door under the stairs. Two white-bread suburbanites she didn’t know were even here–they were ghosts?!–vanished as well. And Charles … 

… Charles had left her too. 

He’d sprinted after his daughter through that door with the swirling glowing mists. That was good, that was appropriate, that’s exactly what a father should do to keep their child from danger. 

If Delia had been quicker to understand what was happening, she’d have gone with him too. She didn’t know where they had gone; the door had sealed itself like it was never there. But wherever it was, it wasn’t here, trapped in a house with a ghost–demon?!–so angry his hair was the shade of red women thought looked natural. 

She’d heard that demon scream as the mysterious door closed. Not just the words, although they echoed through her head, but the rage in that scream. The anguish. 

“Why does everyone keep LEAVING ME?!”

It was only just a little bit ago that she was left alone, but she could feel truth of his words. 

She heard him stomping through the house. Glass smashed. Walls shook. Thunderous shouts of words she couldn’t make out filled the air. Then, more scarily, there was silence. Straining her ears, she heard the faintest hiccuping sobs. 

That did it. 

She was a life coach, and maybe this guy was dead, but she couldn’t just cower here in the bedroom and listen to that. She wasn’t dumb. She knew people thought she was ditzy. She’d been called that most of her life. But that didn’t negate the fact she was empathetic. If she didn’t care, she wouldn’t work so hard to help people. 

Delia stood up. She straightened her dress and patted her hair. Taking a deep breath, she went to find this demon and maybe, maybe, offer some comfort. 

__

tbc …?


	19. Scratch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soft Keatlejuice request- mayhaps after a while of being one one particular sexy breather who has put up with his shit for longer than he thought, they discover the joys of mutual back scratching?

In retaliation, you scratched him back.

He liked to use his nails on you. His thick, surprisingly smooth but strong and more-pointed-than-not nails. More than once you’d been left with marks on your back. Or stomach. Or thighs. It all depended what position you were in, and where he could grab you.

This time, with you on your back and him between your legs, you dug your nails into the small of his back and raked them up to his shoulders. Beetlejuice arched his back and hissed. His breath smelled of stale cigarette smoke, loam, with the faintest perfume of wilted roses underneath. You were used to it, but his grimace made you regret your rash decision. 

“Sorry--!”

He huffed and relaxed his back. It was lucky you were looking at him when he spoke, because his voice was soft. “Do it again.”

“What--?”

“Do it again.”

“You mean, this?” You didn’t wait for an answer; you drew your fingernails up his back once more. 

Beetlejuice gave the same hissing gasp like it hurt, but didn’t insist you stop. You repeated it, and repeated it, and thought his pale skin was going to be marked like he’d been whipped, until you remembered he didn’t actually have blood running through his veins so the tracks you left wouldn’t be red. He buried his face in the side of your neck and groaned. 

Quietly, you asked, “You like this?”

Wordlessly he nodded, then added, “Feels good, baby.”

You rubbed your palms over the long scratches you’d given him, then followed that by lighter scratching parallel to the first you’d given him. He shuddered. You understood. When he didn’t claw at you in the throes of passion, his nails stimulated the nerves in your skin and you liked it too. Holding him close, you continued on his back and up into his rat’s nest of hair until he was soft and lazy atop you. 

You knew he’d never admit enjoying it, so you didn’t say a word.


	20. Tie Pulling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some fantastic artists drew Beej's tie being pulled, so _something_ had to be written for it. Check these wonder people out for more fun art!

art by [saucymangos](https://saucymangos.tumblr.com/post/643044519679574016)

The first time you pulled his tie, he wasn’t expecting it. He wasn’t expecting it, and it startled him and made him reactively defensive, so he startled you with a flash of red that rocketed through his hair and a snarl that showed teeth a little too long and sharp to be fully human.

You’d released him reflectively, even though you’d been teasing and leaning in for a kiss. 

Beetlejuice took a second to realize what you’d done wasn’t meant to be aggressive-– _sexually_ aggressive, yes, but not _aggressive_ aggressive like there was a sudden fight on his hands–-and then apologized profusely. It took several more seconds for his teeth to go back to normal, so that was creepy.

art by [mimicappinisideblog](https://mimiscappinisideblog.tumblr.com/post/643218503664615424)

The next time you had the idea to use his tie as a handhold, you did it with much more caution, slipping your fingers underneath it as they slid upward towards the knot, pulling gently like you’d had a big scared dog on a leash and you were trying to inch him closer instead giving him a fast yank. He was much more amiable to that, his gaze flicking back and forth between your face and your hand the closer you got to kissing him. With his tongue in your mouth, your hand tightened on his tie involuntarily and you felt him grin against your lips.

art by [escape-your-grape](https://escape-your-grape.tumblr.com/post/643252840063729664)

After that, Beetlejuice didn’t mind nearly as much when you grabbed his tie. Positive reinforcement, and all that. It got to the point he’d casually flip his tie as if to remind you it was there and easy to grab. That it could be erotic was cemented when you made him leave it on with his shirt unbuttoned and you kept a tight grip on it while he was pounding you into the mattress.

You never asked him why he wore a suit and tie, as if he heard it was important to impress people so he did his best, even though he didn’t quite grasp what that meant, exactly. It didn’t matter, really. You were just happy, like he was, to add another element to your playtime with him.

art by [werwulfy](https://werwulfy.tumblr.com/post/643255952410394624)

  


art by [go-commander-kim](https://go-commander-kim.tumblr.com/post/643656592052633601/)

fin . . . ? No one wants more of _this_ sort of thing, right? 😉


End file.
